LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 



fijap — lop^rtg^t ^u. 

/£?/■ 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



SHORT FLIGHTS 



MEREDITH NICHOLSON 
ii 



rt 



With a weak, tine er tain wing 
And a short flight, faltering 
Like a heart afraid to sing. 




! 



INDIANAPOLIS 

THE BOWEN-MERRILL CO 

1891 



\^ 



<1^ 



Copyright 1890 

BY 

MEREDITH NICHOLSON 



TO MY UNCLE 

WILLIAM MORTON MEREDITH 



CONTENTS 

INVOCATION— To the Seasons xi 

Sat Est Vixisse . i 

Song 3 

'Tis Never Night in Love's Domain 5 

Estranged 7 

When Friends are Parted 8 

Whereaway g 

A Secret • JI 

Disappointment *3 

Striving « x 4 

An Idolater ...... 16 

Love's Midas To'JCH ...... 17 

In Ether Spaces 18 

My Paddle Gleamed ...... 20 

Faithless 21 

Grape Bloom • 22 

Ill-Starred ......... ° . . 23 

The Soldier Heart „ . 25 

An Unwritten Letter 2 7 

My Lady of the Golden Heart 28 

Dreams ■ • 3° 

Cardinal Newman 3 1 

On the Mediterranean ....... «. . 3 2 

v 



vi CONTENTS. 



Watching the World Go By 34 

Righteous Wrath 36 

Sunset 37 

Rondeau of Eventide 38 

A Prince's Treasure 39 

Dieu Vous Garde 41 

Sweetheart Time 42 

The Road to Happiness 44 

Guarding Shadows 46 

Art's Lesson 47 

In the Shadow 4S 

"Lead, Kindly Light" . „ . 50 

Songs and Words ..,««,.. 51 

For a New Year's Morn , . . 53 

Three Friends 54 

A Rhyme of Little Girls , „ . 57 

The Battles Grandsire Missed ....... 59 

Barred . „ . „ . 61 

A Slumber Song ...... . . » . 62 

Before the Fire 64 

October ....„„. 66 

In Winter I was Born ... .... ... 68 

Good Night and Pleasant Dreams ....... 69 

Where Love Was Not 71 

Down the Aisles 73 

Ruin 74 

Half Flights 76 

A Kind of Man 77 

Transfigured . » 7S 



CONTENTS. vii 



Love's Power 79 

Fire-Hunting 80 

Heartache 81 

Friendship's Sacrament 83 

Omar Khayyam 84 

A Discovery 86 

SONNETS 

A Modern Puritan 89 

The Law of Life . 90 

To Eugene Field in England 91 



Dependence 



92 



By Sheridan's Grave 93 

Viking 94 

Violin 9^ 

What the Babies Say 96 

Secrets 97 

Blind 98 

A Fancy 99 

Thoreau ... 100 



SHORT FLIGHTS 



INVOCATION. xi 



TO THE SEASONS. 

SEASONS that pass me by in varied mood, 
As on the impressionable land yon leave a trace, 
Molding sometime a delicate flower 's sweet face, 
Touching again with green the somber wood, 
Or drawing all beneath a snowy hood, — 
Am I not worthy as they to have a place 
In your remanbrance? Am I made too base 
To know what weed and thorn have understood? 

Fair vernal time, I need your quickening 

Even as the sleeping Earth! summer heat 
Make flower and fruit in me that I may bring 
Full hands to Autumn when above me beat 

The serious winds; and Winter, make me strong 
Like the glad music of your battle song! 



SAT EST VIXISSE. 



To have lived ! 
To have felt a quickened beat 

Of the heart in spring; 
To have known that something sweet 

Moved the birds to sing; 
To have seen dim waves of heat 
O'er a field of green retreat ! 

ii. 

To have found the hiding-place 

Of the wild wood rose; 
To have held, a little space, 
Any flower that grows; 
To have known a moment's grace 
Looking in a loved one's face 

To have lived, to have lived! 



SAT EST VIXlSSE. 



in. 

Still, doth it suffice alone 

That the world is fair? 
O'er what fields have these hands sown? 

Are they gold or bare? 
And though all the flowers are flown, 
If to God my heart is known, 
Then shall I in truth be shown 

How to live, why to live ! 



SO JVC 



SONG. 

GLAD and sad make rhyme, my dear, 
Glad and sad make rhyme. 
Though the sun may not appear, 

Though there be a time 
When the hours are very long, 

And there is no joy for you, 
Weave this thought into a song: 

Glad and sad make jingle true — 
Happy jingle true! 

They are joined together, dear, 

Joined together they, 

Like the dark sky and the clear 

Of an April day. 
Like the grief that dies in gladness 

Turmoil into peace will grow, 

Soon there is an end of sadness — 

Glad and sad make rhyme, you know, 

Perfect rhyme, you know. 



SONG. 



They make perfect rhyme, my dear, 

Perfect as can be; 
Falling sweet upon the ear, 

Telling you and me 
That the thorn and rose are wed, 

That night holds in store the dawn, 
And till hope and trust are dead 

Glad and sad will jingle on, 
Jingle, jingle on! 



9 TIS NEVER NIGHT IN LOVE'S DOMAIN. 



'TIS NEVER NIGHT IN LOVE'S DOMAIN. 

7'T^WAS morning when one found his way 

A Within the garden lands of love. 
He lingered till he thought the day- 
Should surely unto night yield sway, 

But morning's sun still shone above 
In skies unmarred by evening's gray, 

While on the air rang this refrain — 
'Tis never night in love's domain. 

Love's palace beauteous is, and tall, 

And broad, and grand is his estate, 
Gay courtiers throng each spacious hall 
Where laughing echoes ceaseless fall 

And mock the silent outcast, hate, 
Who ever cowers by post and wall, 

And scowls as rings the glad refrain— 
'Tis never night in love's domain. 



6 'TIS NEVER NIGHT IN LOVE'S DOMAIN. 



And thence through groves with myrtle grown 

lie followed Venus' dove-drawn car 
By paths he ne'er before had known, 
And yet, the morning had not flown, 

And yet, fresh winds blew from afar 
As came, in ne'er decreasing tone, 

The song through which ran this refrain- 
'Tis never night in love's domain. 

Ah, love of mine, how well we know 

The glories of those garden lands 
Through which Lethean waters flow ! 
Oft we have wandered to and fro 

Down those bright halls, and seen the hands 
Of tiny elves that beckoned so 

They kept the time to this refrain — 
'Tis never night in love's domain. 



ESTRANGED. 



ESTRANGED. 



IT was but yesterday that thou 
Wert with love-whispers eloquent, 
Yet come and look upon her now 
That life is spent. 

How strangely white the face hath grown, 

No longer prest by kisses fond; 
Why turn'st, now that her soul hath flown 
And rests beyond? 

Why enter'st not the darkened room 

To touch again those cold, white lips — 
So cold and white, seen in the gloom 
Of Death's eclipse? 

Thou wert so loving once, but now 

Take that cold hand as lovers may, 
Imprint a kiss on that calm brow, 
Nor turn away. 

It was but yesterday that thou 

Wert with love-whispers eloquent — 
Thou wilt not look upon her now 
That life is spent. 



WHEN FRIENDS ARE PARTED. 



WHEN FRIENDS ARE PARTED. 

TIME keeps no measure when true friends are parted, - 
No record day by day; 
The sands move not for those who, loyal-hearted, 
Friendship's firm laws obey. 

It is not well to note with dull precision 

The flight of days or years; 
Memory depends not on a proof by vision, 

And has no foolish fears. 

The migrant birds when they are Southward flying 

Flave no regrets; they go 
Full of the knowledge born of faith undying, 

That they again shall know 

The homes and nests which they have left behind them 
Unmarred by change the while; 

The Southern lands they seek will but remind them 
Of the North's summer smile. 

And so I know that you will come to meet me 

In the old, well-loved way; 
That, though a year go by, you still will greet me 

As kindly as to-day. 



WHERE A WA V. 



WHEREAWAY: 

WHERE are you going my bright blue eyes, 
My boy so happy-hearted? 
You are very young and very wise, 

And early you have started. 
Where is the city you're bound for, lad? 

Come tell me of it truly; 
Is it one that is fair, and one that is glad 

And was it builded newly? 
Oh, tell me whereaway my lad — 
Whereaway? 

The day is fair and the skies are blue, 

Come rest awhile and listen: 
By far too great is the world for you, 

The spires in dreams that glisten 
Are far away from this quiet place 

With many a mile between, 
So rest, blue eyes, for a little space 

Here where the slopes are green — 
Oh, tell me whereaway my lad — 
Whereaway? 



io WHERE A WA Y. 



Oh, dim and vague is the early haze 

That holds your world of seeming; 
This day is fairer than other days 

Only in boyish dreaming, — 
So do not hasten but pause to tell 

Why you make such a hurry — 
Do you want to go, have you pondered well 

About the cost and worry? 
Oh, tell me whereaway my lad — 
Whereaway? 

Oh, dear blue eyes and brave young heart 

Why must you turn to leave me? 
Am I so old that we now must part, 

Why will you go to grieve me? 
But he turns away with a smile and nod 

And will not tell me truly 
About the place to which he will plod, 

If old or builded newly; 
He does not answer "Where, my lad?" 
Whereaway? 



A SECRET. ii 



A SECRET. 



HE said, "No one shall ever learn 
This secret that my heart must keep; 
No matter how the words may burn, 
No matter how my heart may leap, 
No one shall know I love her so, 
No one shall know, no one shall know !" 

But though his lips were tightly sealed, 
The very birds his secret guessed, 
For in his eyes it was revealed, 

And in his face it was confessed — 
"I love her so, I love her so, 
But none shall know, but none shall know?" 

The wind soon found it and ran on 

To tell it to the wondering flowers, 
And bear it to the gates of dawn, 

Where loiter all the coming hours, 

That they might know he loved her so, 
That they might know, that they might know ! 



12 A SECRET. 



Some time all secrets must unfold, 

And soon did he a listener seek, 
To whom his story might be told 

Before the laughing world should speak 
And tell her (if she did not know !) 
He loved her so, he loved her so ! 



DISAPPOINTMENT. 13 



DISAPPOINTMENT. 

THE broad-armed wave that reaches for the land 
Sees not the towering rock that bars the way 
Unto the longed-for play-ground of the strand, 

Until, thrown back, it sees through tears of spray. 



i 4 STRIVING. 



STRIVING. 

IT is not much that I can do, 
My hands are weak, 
The lines they draw seem never true; 
The works I speak 

Are not the ones I long to say, — 
I speak not prayers I long to pray. 

It is no coward spirit, no — 

I try to learn 
How others bravely strive and go 
Rewards to earn, 

And yet success is never mine — 
I labor on a false design. 

They are not much, these little things 

That form my task, 
Yet constant seeking never brings 
What I would ask, 

And of what use is life to one 
Who never knew a victory won? 



STRIVING. IS 



But this one thing I know, that He 

Who guides the stars 
Will look in charity on me 
And see the scars 

Which show that I have tried to trace 
A path that weeds could not efface. 



16 AN IDOLATER. 



AN IDOLATER. 

I RE AD of pagan priests in idols hiding, 
That with their own lips they might make reply 
To prayers of worshippers in them confiding — 
To vouchsafe or deny. 

And all idolatry has not departed; 

For yet I faith in one fair idol hold, 
Unlike those of the heathen, hollow-hearted, 
Voiceless, inert and cold; 

But one who dwells, a queen, among the living, 

Whose eyes light up, my waiting eyes to greet 
And speak, before the lips, sweet answer giving 

From her soul's judgment seat. 



LOVE'S MIDAS TOUCH. 17 



LOVE'S MIDAS TOUCH. 

YOUR love has made life dear to me; 
Until you came I did not know 
How beautiful the world could be — 

How full of joy its days could grow. 

Once peace was not in anything, 

But love has made life dear to me; 

The winter has given way to spring, 
And skies are fair and clear to me. 

My heart is listening when you speak; 
To hold your hand or touch your cheek,— 
Since love has made life dear to me ! 
Sends flying love and fear through me. 

Glad is the grass your feet have pressed, 
Your eyes throw joy on all they see, 

Around you there is gracious rest, 

Your love has made life dear to me. 



IN ETHER SPACES. 



IN ETHER SPACES. 

SOMEWHERE in space there is a realm where lingers 
Each word that ever fell from lips of man, 
All music stirred to life by touch of fingers, 
All sounds since time began. 

Rumble of quaking earth and plains upturning 

Creation morn; the sullen beat of rain, 
The coo of dove with olive-leaf returning, 
The stir of life again. 

A Child's soft treble in the temple, heeded 

By doctors who about him listening drew; 
"Father, forgive them," on dark Calvary pleaded, 
"They know not what they do." 

The songs are there which echoed through dim ages, 
And chants of kneeling priests at pagan shrines, 
The speech of prophets writ on history's pages 
In God-directed lines. 



IN ETHER SPACES. 19 

There dormant dwells the roar of battle royal, 

The clash of arms amid war's furnace flame, 
Victorious cries of warriors brave and loyal, 
A people's loud acclaim; 

With words that gladdened hearts of earliest lovers, 

And curses since night's robes trailed Eden's sky, 
While vague as half-remembered dreams there hovers 
Each mother's lullaby. 

O sounds afar in ether spaces dwelling, 

In mighty minstrelsy awake ! Unite 

In chords the story of the aeons telling 

Since stars first gemmed the night. 



20 MY PADDLE GLEAMED. 



MY PADDLE GLEAMED. 

MY paddle gleamed, the light canoe 
The river's waters glided through 
With scarce a sound to fret the air; 
The sun shone bright, the morn was fair 
And from the South soft breezes blew. 

O'erhead the swallows darting flew, 

Then dropt to earth to brush the dew 
From off the tangled grasses there, 
My paddle gleamed ! 

In form as perfect, fresh and new 
As when they first in Eden grew 

God's gifts, before, lay everywhere; 

Behind, the city's toil and care; 
Content, 1 joy's full measure knew — 

My paddle gleamed ! 



FAITHLESS. 21 



FAITHLESS. 

AH, yes ! Thy love was like the stars, but not 
Like faithful stars which gleam with steadfast light, 
But as a darting aerolite, swift shot 

Across the blackness of a sombre night, 
Fading as quickly, and as soon forgot. 



22 GRAPE BLOOM. 



GRAPE BLOOM. 

I WALK 'mid vines which rest upon 
An arbor o'er a garden way 
Where southern breezes come to play 
And never-ending races run. 

The dew drips from the clustering vines, 
A swallow like a shuttle cleaves 
The air above and vainly weaves 

His fancies into unseen lines. 

But stealing forth and dwelling there 
Within the shadows of the walk, 
A perfume comes as when gods talk 

And their glad breathings fill the air. 

Scarce seen among the vines the shapes 

That hold and throw the rare perfume- 
The tiny bits of early bloom 

Presageful of the coming grapes. 

And when they ripened grace the vine, 
That sweetness shall return again, 
Like hopes fulfilled to trustful men, 

And have new life in autumn's wine. 



ILL-STARRED. 23 



ILL-STARRED. 

OH, prayers and sympathetic tears 
For each and every ill-starred knight 
For whom ring no victorious cheers; 
For those who, early in the fight, 
Saw daylight turning into night 
And yielded up to Fate their spears. 

The dented shield, the pierced cuirass, 
Sad story is it that they tell 

Of brave young knights whose hopes, alas! 
Bore meagre fruit; who fighting fell 
Before the foe they could not quell; 

Who found no 'wine within the glass. 

For some there are but ill-equipped 

To face the world; some weak of will 

And soon faint-hearted, feeble-lipped, 
Fit but the lowest posts to fill, 
Some shivering with the coward's chill, 

And of the armor "courage" stripped. 



24 ILL-STARRED. 



Oh, you 'gainst whom the fates are set, 

E'en though you've failed on every field 

To gain fair honor's banneret, 

Let high above be held each shield, 
Each one with purpose strong annealed, 

And all shall win a victory yet. 



THE SOLDIER HEART 25 



THE SOLDIER HEART. 

ONE day in careless wise I said: 
"They were no heroes, they who bled 

To save the Nation and to free the slave; 

There is no honor now in being brave;" 

And thought not how my father hearing me — 

(He who had fought with Sherman to the sea, 

True as a knight of storied chivalry), 

Would feel the sting my words conveyed, as though 

I deemed the venture of his life should go 

A thing unworthy of remembrance. Then 

His look of pain (soft are the hearts of men !) 

Made me think deeply of the soldier's part, 

(As when on Memory's day the quick tears start 

To see the line each spring becoming less, 

The slowing step, heads' winter snowiness !) 

And vowed I then that while my blood should run 

I should not be a son 

To speak a word not kindly of a soldier true; 

To utter naught but praise of all who dared to do, 

Whether in mail of gray or clad in honest blue! 



26 THE SOLDIER HEART. 

He who cares not 

That his sire fought; 

He who shall think not proudly of the days 

His father felt the blaze 

Of war's red furnace flame against his cheek, 

Has but a coward's heart, too poor and weak 

To throw the blood through faltering limb — 

Earth has no place for him ! 

While there is hearth and home to save, 
'Tis something to be brave — 
'Tis something to have ventured near to Death, 
And felt his chilling breath ! 



AN UNWRITTEN LETTER. 27 



AN UNWRITTEN LETTER. 



SHE wrote a letter with her eyes, 
Well-filled with words of bliss; 
Then, like a prudent maid and wise, 
She sealed it with a kiss. 



28 MY LADY OF THE GOLDEN HEART. 

MY LADY OF THE GOLDEN HEART. 

MY lady of the golden heart, she comes each day 
Down by the lodge-gate that I keep; she comes de- 
murely, 
And her two hounds sedate do follow and obey 

Her slightest wish, and they do love my lady surely. 

She comes each day, my lady of the golden heart, 

Sometimes a-riding or sometimes she comes a-walking; 

The birds along the hedge they do not even start 

When she comes by, sometimes to her big hounds a-talking. 

"Good morrow" says my lady, (she whose heart is gold), 
And gold out of her heart makes bright the gateway; 

The sunshine of her face in winter time does hold 

Green meadows and sweet flowers and makes a summer 
straightway. 

My lady, she whose heart is gold, my lady goes 

Each day into the village, bread and good wine bearing 

To those that sick be, and my gentle lady knows 

All of the village folk and for them she be caring. 



MY LADY OF THE GOLDEN HEART. 29 

Now as she comes each day, (gold is my lady's heart), 

Or goes away upon some errand Heaven has sent her, 

The gates of my poor heart, they do fly far apart, 

But there my lady fair and sweet, she will not enter. 



3 o DREAMS. 



DREAMS. 

LIKE shadow- freighted ships which softly creep 
Across some far-off ghostly main, 
They haunt the chambers of the brain, 
And kiss their fingers to the watchman, Sleep ! 



CARDINAL NEWMAN. 31 



CARDINAL NEWMAN. 

" To the last I never recognized the hold I had over young 
men.'''' — Apologia pro Vita Sua. 

NO more the sun may know the strength it hath 
To stir the bark in spring with quickening blood: 
No more a storm controlleth its great wrath, 
Or doleth out the measure of its flood ! 

There is a quality of lasting youth 

That knoweth not the force that gave it birth; 
Some souls God pointeth subtler ways of truth, 

As highest tribute to their lasting worth. 

He hath in souls like thine deposited 

A quenchless flame as calm and strong as dawn; 

Across the world thy potent fire is shed, 

Born of the "kindly light" that leadeth on! 



32 ON THE MEDITERRANEAN. 



ON THE MEDITERRANEAN. 

THE GREEK GIRL'S SONG. 

TO-DAY my lover tends his flocks; 
He roams with them through fragrant meads, 
And guides across the barren rocks; 

With his own hands the lambs he feeds, 
And soothes them when the winds are cold 
Or terror comes among the fold. 
They soon forget the night's alarms 
When folded in his shielding arms. 

So good and true to them is he 
I know he will be kind to me. 

My lover walks in paths of peace, 

He would avoid the conflict's noise 

And bid the warring legions cease. 
He is content with simple joys; 

He fain would always journey through 

Tall grasses shining in the dew 

And tend his sheep and dream his dreams 
Beside the quiet mountain streams; 



ON THE MEDITERRANEAN. 33 

So faithful is his love of home 
His heart I know can never roam. 

THE SHEPHERD'S SONG. 

As fair as the flocks that graze 

There 'gainst the hill's restful side; 
As sweet as the breath of night 
When across dim flowery ways 
Pours a mellifluous tide, 

Winging an odorous flight: 

Thus is the maiden who sends 
Songs to the shepherd who tends 
Sheep by the streams, and who dies 
In the delight of her eyes, 

Down by the shore in the night 

Rush the great breakers, nor cease 
Oft till the dawn lights the crest; 
And so is love in its might, 

Stirring my soul from its peace, 
Leaving the shepherd no rest. 

Oh, if the sheep could but learn 
For me the answer I yearn ! 
Come, my fair flock, we shall see 
What is the answer for me ! 



34 



WATCHING THE WORLD GO BY. 



WATCHING THE WORLD GO BY. 



SWIFT as a meteor and as quickly gone 
A train of cars darts swiftly through the night; 
Scorning the wood and field it hurries on, 
A thing of wrathful might. 



There, from a farmer's home a woman's eyes, 

Roused by the sudden jar and passing flare, 
Follow the speeding phantom till it dies, — 
An echo on the air. 

Narrow the life that always has been hers 

The evening brings a longing to her breast; 
Deep in her heart some aspiration stirs 
And mocks her soul's unrest. 

Her tasks are mean and endless as the days, 

And sometimes love cannot repay all things; 
An instrument that rudely touched obeys 
Becomes discordant strings. 



WATCHING THE WORLD GO BY. 35 

The train that followed in the headlight's glare, 
Bound for the city and a larger world, 

Made emphasis of her poor life of care 
As from her sight it whirled. 

Thus from all lonely hearts the great earth rolls, 
Indifferent thoitgh one woman grieve and die^ 

Along its iron track are many souls 
That watch the world go by. 



3 6 RIGHTEOUS WRATH. 



RIGHTEOUS WRATH. 

HOW splendid is the righteous wrath 
Born in a good man's soul! 
Ignoble things fly from his path, 

Loud thunders round him roll, — 
Yet tenderness and love he hath. 

Like some gigantic forest fire, 
His mighty anger sweeps; 

An eager flame of awful ire, 
At every wrong it leaps, — 

Still, lasting peace he doth desire. 

Then, swift as flies the meteor's spark, 

His anger disappears; 
Born for the hour it met its mark, — 

He sootheth now love's fears, 
While wrong sits trembling in the dark ! 



SUNSET. 37 



SUNSET. 

TWO giants meet upon the hills 
And one is day, the other night; 
The trees draw near, the sky leans down 
To watch their test of might. 

I cannot see them struggling there, 
But soon I know that one is dead, 

For lo ! the trees and hills and sky 
Are suddenly splashed with red ! 



38 RONDEAU OF EVENTIDE. 



RONDEAU OF EVENTIDE. 

AT eventide when we are prest 
By shadows and seek any rest 
That twilight brings at waning day, 
Ah, well with us if we can say 
For aye we sought and found the best. 

God's hand all nature has caressed 
Till beauty is his love confessed, 

Till bud and bloom his love display 
Through eventide. 

Why should we not pursue our quest 
For such good things as bear the test 

The things worth loving bear alway ? 

"Full life, full life," we sometimes pray, 
Full life t<? higher life addressed^ 
Till eventide! 



A PRINCE'S TREASURE. 39 

A PRINCE'S TREASURE. 

[To His'Royal Highness, Russell Fortune.] 

OUR little prince can't understand 
That this is one of many springs; 
He thinks these days for him are planned, 
And that for him the robin sings. 

All wonder-eyed he walks afield 

And makes an invoice of the joys 

God strews around for little boys, 
And thinks for him they're first revealed. 

It is a solemn thing to him! 

He wonders if it's right to pull 

The little wild flowers beautiful 
That in the sea of grasses swim. 

More gentle than the violet, 

He studies o'er those eyes of blue — 

Blue as his eyes are brown, and wet 

As his, sometimes, are wet with dew ! 



4 o A PRINCE'S TREASURE. 

Appreciative eyes are his ! 

Into his apron takes he all 

The flowers that to his hand may fall — 

The poorest weed so precious is ! 

His feet leave but the vaguest hints 
Of steps along the shadows where 
The knightly trees bend down and swear 

Allegiance to their little prince. 

O gentle, princely lad of ours, 

May nature ever hold your heart, 
And knowledge of her ways impart 

Through lessons of the spring-time flowers; 

May spring itself pass ever on 

And never lead to summer's dust, 

But make your life an endless dawn, 

With endless love, and faith, and trust ! 



DIEU VOUS GARDE. 41 



DIEU VOUS GARDE. 

MAY Allah in thy heart unfold 
Perpetual-blooming roses; 
May His sweet peace to thee increase 
Until the evening closes. 

And may tall palms before thee rise, 
Hot sand to gardens turning; 

May dates and wine be always thine, 
Amid the desert's burning. 

Let enemies be put to flight, 
Before thy spear uplifted, 

And may thy way be as a day 
From starry vistas drifted. 

Oh, Allah watches through the night, 
His trustful children viewing; 

His love is deep, but he will keep 
Renewing and renewing. 



42 SWEETHEART TIME. 



SWEETHEART TIME. 



IT is a time before the rose 
Has blossomed to its form complete; 
Before the hidden fragrance knows 
How rare it is, and sweet. 

A time it is when hearts are light, 

And shadows are a thing as far 
Away as darkness from the sight 

Of evening's brightest star. 

There is an undertone of song 

Vague, like the mists of early day; 
An undertone that steals along, 
Forever far away. 

II. 

The walls that guard King Love's fair home 

Are tall and strong; yet cannot hold 
From those who by the gateway roam 
Some share of hoarded gold. 



SWEETHEART TIME. 43 

So youth and maiden wandering near 

In straying beams of light are caught. 
Their eyes serene know not the tear 

Through fuller loving wrought. 

It lasts for just a little while; 

It is love's playtime, one brief hour 
With tender sighing to beguile — 
A bud before the flower; 

It is a time before the rose 

Attains its fairest form complete; 
Before the subtle fragrance knows 
How rare it is, and sweet. 



44 THE ROAD TO HAPPINESS. 



THE ROAD TO HAPPINESS. 

HERE'S the path our feet shall press 
To the land of happiness; 
There are guide-posts by the way 
That we may not go astray; 
Spots there are where we may rest, 
Of King Happiness the guest; 
Basking in the sunshine's glow, 
While the joyous pilgrims go 
Ever onward to the gates 
Where the Queen of Joy awaits 
Those recruits her king shall gain 
On the way to his domain. 

Such a joyous army this ! 
Banners leaping for a kiss 
From the winds that sweep along 
Bearing songs that well belong 
To a road whose glory lies 
Always under sunny skies. 



THE ROAD TO HAPPINESS. 45 

By this road no toll gate stands 
With its ever-barring hands, 
Yet of every passing soul 
There is asked a certain toll. 
It is this — that we shall share, 
As we tread the thoroughfare, 
All we have with those who lose 
What they gain, or who refuse 
To accept what is bestowed 
By the master of the road. 

What a simple engineer 
Marked this path ! It is so clear 
That to miss it is to turn 
And its cooling shadows spurn. 

Any road our feet may press 
Is a road to happiness, 
And that land is anywhere 
That we turn away from care 
To the army of a king 
Who is ever journeying 
To the city, by whose gates, 
His fair queen of Joy awaits. 



46 GUARDING SHADOWS. 



GUARDING SHADOWS. 



GRIM watchmen are the jealous trees 
Above their moon-born shadows — Thus 
May foolish men guard mysteries 

Which they have made mysterious. 



ARTS LESSON. 47 



ART'S LESSON, 

glorious marble statue, 
What gain I looking at you? 
Your beauty is so old, 
You are a form so cold 
I can not understand you 
Nor feel for him who planned you. 
I easier lessons seek 
Than those in chiseled Greek. 

I turn to you my fragrant; 
Bedewed and straggling vagrant, 
You are a simple flower, 
And scarce live out the hour 
Here in the garden by-way 
(That still is Nature's highway!) 
Yet utter from the grass 
Lessons from Phidias ! 



48 IN THE SHADOW. 



IN THE SHADOW. 

I WOULD not have thee otherwise, 
O cloudy skies; 
I would not change the night to day 

Nor drive away 
The shadows that are hanging o'er 
My hearth and door. 

There is some good that lurketh where 
The lightnings flare; 

There is a peace that bideth in 
The fiercest din; 

A vernal light doth look upon 
Fields winter- won. 

If God were not the Overheart, 

Nor had a part 
In all the wounds that hurt us so ! 

But He doth know 
And doth in patience see and bless 

In gentleness. 



IN THE SHADOW. 49 

How sturdy and how great, O earth ! 

Within thy girth 
Thou wieldst what passion and what pain 

O'er man's domain; 
And yet within thy shadows blest 

Is perfect rest. 

Turn not unto the light too long 

Friend, with thy song! 
Thou hast not need to look afar 

For hill or star; 
Here in the shadow rest is found 

Deep and profound. 



5o "LEAD, KINDL Y LIGHT." 



"LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT." 

44 T EAD, kindly light," I heard the glad bells ring, 

-L-rf And thought how God existeth everywhere. 
'Twas in a city strange that, sweetest thing ! 
"Lead, kindly light," I heard the glad bells ring, 
And Summer stole into the early spring, 

For where the kind light leadeth all is fair. 

"Lead, kindly light," I heard the glad bells ring, 

And thought how God existeth everywhere. 



SONGS AND WORDS. 51 



SONGS AND WORDS. 



THE songs you sing, the songs you sing, 
They are such songs as need not words, 
They are the songs that soar and ring 
Like utterance of wildwood birds. 
The ear is puzzled at the sound — 

They are so far from common art 
That what is best in them is found 

By simply listening with the heart ! 

11. 

The words you speak, the words you speak, 

Have little of philosophy; 
They voice not things that wise men seek, 

They have no hint of poetry, 
And yet each syllable that slips 

Up from your soul and bubbles o'er 
The yielding gateway of your lips 

A gracious meaning holds in store. 



52 SONGS AND WORDS. 



in. 

The songs you sing are simple songs, 

Your words are wor.ls that children use 
To tell of love, complain of wrongs; 

You may the guiding notes confuse, 
(If any notes e'er met your eyes!) 

They rise, and live, and lingering, 
Each song and word alternate dies 

In words you speak, in songs you sing. 



FOR A NEW YEAR'S MORN. 53 

FOR A NEW YEAR'S MORN. 

LIKE some tired reader who has put aside 
His book a little while, sick of the tale, 
Careless a moment how the plot may run, 
Indifferent to the part he has perused, 
Then with new interest going back to find 
How fared it with the story's people, so 
Here at the gate of this new year I stand. 
Weary we grew long since, my Comrade soul ! 
So tired we are of all our eyes have found, 
So strong our yearning for new sights and sounds! 
Yet on this morn the world is fair again, — 
Ah, very fair, and full of light and joy; 
And holding forth new hope that comes of faith, 
And adding to our faith that lies in God. 
Now, like some traveler in a desert lost, 
Straining his eyes across the wastes of sand, 
Then, sudden, finding tracks but freshly made 
That give new courage to the wanderer, — 
So now, my Comrade soul, we turn away 
From dreary wastes, we see the tracks that show 
Where others have gone on and found the way 
As we can find it. Come, old Comrade, — friend ! 
Give me your hand, we must march on' again! 



54 THREE FRIENDS. 

THREE FRIENDS. 

[Paul Hamilton Hayne, Sidney Lanier and Robert Burns Wilson] 

THREE noble friends the South has given me, 
Two biding now beyond the farthest gate, 
One living still, great-hearted, soul elate, 
From trammeling passions free. 

The twain now unbeholden to our eyes, 

Were soldiers for a cause they thought was right— 
They were such men as set the torch alight 

That marks our destinies; 

Yet, with a song that rings above the din 

Of battle, and with brows where there might rest 
The victor's crown, or singer's wreath, more blest, 

Through hymns of peace to win. 

I read one morning, in a day long gone, 

The songs of Hayne, all odorous of the pines; 
The heart of Nature throbbed along the lines — 

Her joy was in his dawn. 



THREE FRIENDS. 55 

The hills and streams to him were never dumb, 

They gave their secrets to his own heart's keeping; 
Grand music in the oaks and pines was sleeping 

Waiting for him to come ! 

And you, Lanier, cut down like some tall tree 
By an insidious foe — upright and strong 
Until the last, and with your parting song 

From Deathland floating free ! 

Sweet dawns were~yours, bright noons and starry nights; 
Your heart lay on the bosoms of the hills — 
Clear was your soul as dew that God distills 

Upon His sacred heights ! 

And you are gone, and only one remains 

Of the three Southern singers loved so well; 
To-night the wind in sympathy would quell 

The grief of woods and plains — 

Saying: "They were our friends, they understood 

The messages we spoke into their ears; 

Now they have passed beyond our hopes and fears 
Unto a higher Good." 



56 THREE FRIENDS. 

But he who still is here, he well has caught 
The spirit .that is Nature's, and is hers 
Only for her most loved interpreters — 

Ah, nobly he has wrought ! 

And Southern winds that to the northward roam, 
And misty stars that shine above us dim, 
Each evening bring me utterance of him 

To my far Northern home ! 



A RHYME OF LITTLE GIRLS. 57 



A RHYME OF LITTLE GIRLS. 

PRITHE tell me, don't you think 
Little girls are dearest 
With their cheeks of tempting pink, 
And their eyes the clearest? 

Don't you know that they are best 
And of all the loveliest? 

Of all girls with roguish ways 

They are surely truest; 
Sunshine gleams through all their days, 
They see skies the bluest, 
And they wear a diadem 
Summer has bestowed on them. 

Lydia doesn't care a cent 

For the newest dances; 
She is not on flirting bent, 
Has no killing glances, 

But without the slightest art 
She has captured many a heart. 



58 A RHYME OF LITTLE GIRLS. 



Older sisters cut you dead, 

Little sisters never; 
They don't giggle when they've said 
S omething very L clever, — 

They just get behind a chair, 
Frowning, smiling at you there. 

Florence, Lydia, Margaret 

Or a gentle Mary, 
They form friendships that, once set, 
Never more can vary, — 

Stanch young friends they are and true 
Always clinging close to you. 

Buds must into blossoms blow, 

(Morn so early leaves us!) 

Maids must into women grow, 

(There's the thing that grieves us !) 
Psyche knots of flying curls, 
That's good-bye to little girls ! 



THE BATTLES GRAND SIRE MISSED. 59 

THE BATTLES GRANDSIRE MISSED. 

COME, boy, and sit upon my knee s 
And turn to me your eyes, 
That I, down in their depths may see 
A hint of those blue skies 
Beneath which once my father fought 
(Your grandsire ! and I am not old !) 
What time our banner's stars were caught 
In treason's eager hold. 

A boy, as you are now a boy, 

I did not understand 
That traitors could their flag destroy 

And cut in twain their land; 
I heard the tramp of marching men, 

So long ago that seems ! 
You can not know what times were then 

Though you may guess, in dreams. 

And then my father went away; 

How would it be if I 
Should leave you, boy of mine, to-day — 

Should leave you and should die? 



60 THE BATTLES GRAND SIRE MISSED. 



Your eyes are wet; O closer come! 

There is no more of war; 
Peace long lias shown that there are some 

Kind things to struggle for. 

You "wonder whether grandpa got 

In all the fights?" Well, lad, 
It was Bull Run where he was shot, 

The first big fight they had ! 
But let us, you and I, insist 

That this of him be said: 
The only battles that he missed 

Were fought when he was dead. 

"He would have fought, had he been there?" 

You ask of me, my child; 
He never would have ceased to dare 

Those who our flag defiled. 
And always, in the spring, keep tryst 

With Memory by the head 
Of one who not a battle missed 

Except when he was dead. 



BARRED. 61 



BARRED. 

ONE cheerless night when winter winds were sowing 
Over the world their cold, white seeds of snow, 
While from my window pane the fire was throwing 
Taunts to the elements with its bright glow, 

A poor, storm-driven bird, its lost way winging, 
Paused when it saw the flame's reflected light; 

Unto the window for a moment clinging, 

Then downward fell, forever lost to sight. 

And so it is, I thought, that poor hearts yearning 
For more of life, charmed by its outward sheen, 

Must backward fall, the truth too quickly learning, 
That death ? cold and unyielding, stands between. 



62 A SLUMBER SONG. 



A SLUMBER SONG. 

BABY, you stand by a gate that leads 
Into a land of dreams; 
There's a drowsy watchman here who heeds 

Never the straggling gleams 
Of light that stray from the far-off sun — 
Always for him it's twilight begun — 

And we stand by the gate. 
And watch and wait, 
And watch — and wait ! 

Little one, hear what the stream sings of, 

Here in this quiet land; 
It sings of the joy of mother love — 

Sings to birds in the sand — 
To the strange, tall birds with dreamy eyes, 
That look at you, dear, in mute surprise, 

While we stand by the gate, 
And watch and wait, 
And watch — and wait ! 



A SLUMBER SONG. 63 

If you open the gate, no one will know; 

The guard will never guess. 
You must open it gently, slowly — so ! 

No one has heard, unless 
Those dreamful birds, or the dreamland sheep, 
Heard you stealing through their land of sleep 
While I stood by the gate, 
To watch and wait. 
And watch — and wait ! 

Oh, strange are the birds and the sheep that dwell 

Here in the land of dreams ! 
But you must not see, and you must not tell, 

However strange it seems, 
Or they'll never let you in again, 
And it would not please you, baby, then, 
Just to stand by the gate, 
And watch, and wait, 
And watch — and wait ! 



64 BEFORE THE FIRE. 



BEFORE THE FIRE. 

THE winds go riding down the wold, 
And back the forest legions throw; 
A winter day the hours has told 

On rosaries of drops of snow. 
Through close-drawn blinds the lamplight falls, 

And on a drifted whiteness lies, 
While here within these cottage walls 

The flames make stars of baby's eyes. 

Rude fingers tap upon the pane 

And entrance at the door demand; 
The storm king and his lusty train 

Go rushing o'er the land; 
But homes where love a vigil keeps 

Know not that summer ever dies, 
Know not that summer even sleeps, 

When flames make stars of baby's eyes. 



BEFORE THE FIRE. 65 

The father to the mother reads, 

The mother busy at his side; 
He reads a tale of noble deeds, 

Of men who for a nation died, 
But oft they turn and fondly look 

Upon the hero whom they prize 
Beyond the people of the book, 

Where flames make stars of baby's eyes. 

Fierce winds may ride across the night, 

And storms prevail o'er flood and field, 
But where one lamp throws out its light, 

A happy picture is revealed 
Of two, who by the fireside sit, 

And watch the glowing flames, while rise 
Quick shadows that around them flit 

And mock the stars in baby's eyes. 



66 OCTOBER. 



OCTOBER. 

THE year is getting older, day by day; 
Last night I heard a fierce wind riding by, 
Rattling my western window, and no ray 
Of moon or star illumined the black sky. 

Older the year has grown; the wind that came 
Across the changing world last night to ride, 

Passed here a year ago; it is the same 

That rose before and summer's strength defied. 

Ah, it is you, my old, familiar friend 

October, come to pitch your tents awhile, 

Madly descending from the earth's far end 
Over the farthest seas for many a mile. 

Yet your fierce advent and your winds severe 
Are but the bluster of a friend we love; 

Though you are winter's neighbor you bring here 
Rich gifts, and hang your bluest skies above. 



OCTOBER. 67 

To-morrow you will tame your restless steeds 
And drive the water-freighted clouds away; 

Then you will scatter far the wild-flower's seeds 
At intervals throughout a peaceful day. 

Still, though your skies may be the summer's own, 
Of all your moods I like the wildest best; 

I love the wind and its mad, warring tone, 
Its anger, and its yearning and unrest; 

For in man's soul there is an answering mood, 

A passionate storm with wind and driving rain 

All through a night — love by dull pain pursued, 

Then days when skies are kind and blue again,— 

Blue, but they shed their bitter, biting frost, 
And the sun burns with but a mocking heat, 

While ghost-like zephyrs seek for something lost, 
Like followers in the summer's slow retreat. 



6$ "IN WINTER I WAS BORN" 



"IN WINTER I WAS BORN." 

| N winter I was born, 
So all my years I've loved the frost and snow 
And the strong tireless winds that, passing,blow 
A battle note forlorn. 

I love the year's long night. 
The tumult of great storms, the biting air 
Make my heart's summer time, when days are fair 

And yield me true delight. 

In winter I was born, 
And as I came so let me pass away, 
Out from the world on a December day 

When the delaying morn 

In the far East shall creep 
Last time for me; then let the winds I love 
Come from their far-off homes and play above 

The place where I shall sleep. 



GOOD NIGHT AND PLEASANT DREAMS. 69 



GOOD NIGHT AND PLEASANT DREAMS. 



G' 



OOD-NIGHT and pleasant dreams! 

Forgotten all that play-day world of yours, 
Kind angels lead you now by distant shores; 

Dear childish hands clasped lightly o'er your breast, 

Dear eyes with lids that keep the dark away, 
What sweet content is now by you possessed ! 
I feel your breath against my cheek and say 
Good-night, good-night ! 
Good-night and pleasant dreams! 

Good-night and pleasant dreams ! 
The children's lives so different are from ours, 
Is there not made for them a land of flowers, — 

A childhood's land of sleep where they are taken, — 
Where dreams are only dreams of childish toys 
And only sounds of childish voices waken 

The quiet ways, and say to girls and boys 
Good-night, good-night ! 
Good-night and pleasant dreams ! 



70 GOOD NIGHT AND PLEASANT DREAMS. 

Good-night and pleasant dreams ! 
Go to your quiet land of sleep and dreaming, 
Beyond the darkness, passed the stars a-gleaming. 
The plains of your sleep-land are green and fair; 

Out of the night they make a land of morning 
From which is banished even childish care; 

Stay on, sleep on, dear child, the night world scorn- 
ing,— 

Good-night, good-night ! 
Good-night and pleasant dreams ! 

Good-night and pleasant dreams S 
Good-bye, and gentle angels guard your sleep, 
Good-night, and angels watch above you keep. 
Ah, if we could our childish days prolong — 

If sleep would always come as sweet as this, 
Shielding us from the world of dark and wrong, 
Just by the magic of a mother's kiss, 
And her good-night ! 
Good-night and pleasant dreams ! 



WHERE LOVE WAS NOT. 7! 



WHERE LOVE WAS NOT. 

ONCE in a dream I saw a blackened world 
Hung high in space, by bitter winds o'erblown; 
And there no forests were, no flowers grew, 
No river flowed, out all was sad and drear. 
And on that smoke- encircled sphere there were 
No cities full of life; no children spent 
Glad hours in play; there, laughter ne'er was heard, 
And day was endless day, and night ne'er came 
With tired husband seeking home and wife, 
And "home" was but a mocking echo there. 

And walking o'er that world I met a man, 

Or ghost of what was man, wan, staring-eyed, 

And bowed as though with age, albeit his locks 

Were fair, and seeming youthful was his face; 

And unto him I said in question: "Why 

This waste and desolation, and where are 

The people that once dwelt upon this world? 

And slow he made reply: "But yesterday 

Did Love remove his court from this drear globe, 



72 WHERE LOVE WAS NOT. 

Which was as fair a world as ever came 
From the Creator's hand, and now, so soon, 
That Love is flown has come this awful change- 
The cheerlessness, the people dead and gone. " 

He turned from me, it seemed, and I awoke — 
Back in a world that is controlled by Love. 



DOWN THE AISLES. 73 

DOWN THE AISLES. 

LONE here in vague cathedral gloom I sit, 
Far from the busy city's noise and jar. 
Such calm ! It seems God might just now have writ 
A new, sweet song of peace and whispered it 
From star to star. 

I almost hear a sacred anthem pealing, 

As o'er the quiet aisles I turn my eyes; 
It seems I hear soft prayers to heaven stealing 
Up rays that lead unto the Light -revealing 
In Paradise. 

I think: "How oft have feet of mourners led 

Down these long aisles where perfect silence reigns ! 
How oft have heart-uniting words been said 
There at the altar, whither flowers were spread 
From Love's fair plains! 

Yes, Death and Love have hither come and gone, 

With slow, sad songs, with anthems glad and free; 
And still, without, the world treads on and on 
In aisles that lead to darkness — or the Dawn, 
O God, and Thee ! 



74 RUIN. 



RUIN. 

THE slowly crumbling wall, the broken gate, 
O'er which soft silvery threads of Time are spun; 
Through turrets tall, once grim and stern as Fate, 
Now unresisted steals the changeless sun. 

The eager vines close clasp the pillars round, 
As though to hide the signs of their decay; 

The cheerless chambers echo with each sound 
That enters in where Silence holds her sway. 

Upon the ground, with torn and riven crust, 

There rests the cuirass of some daring knight, 

Enfolding but the cold, unspeaking dust 

Of him who nevermore shall lead the fight. 

And here the chariot-furrowed roadway lies, 
Once trod by armies rich in valorous deeds, 

Now haunted by the lonely wind which sighs 

And creeps among the dead and tangled weeds. 



RUIN. 75 

Ruin and ruins everywhere, but yet, 

In fancy, see the myriad castles tall 
Whereon the banners fair of Hope are set, 

Then watch the wreck and ruin of it all ! 

Forsaken cities far beyond the sea 

Hold not such claim to pity as do those 

Grand dwellings youth rears in such majesty 
To crumble and form sepulchres for woes. 

O memory ! keep and guard your treasures well; 

Contented rest, and, what the past endears, 
Unto the ever hopeful future tell, 

And voice your glories through the coming years. 



76 HALF FLIGHTS. 



HALF FLIGHTS. 

I think it were better that lips should forever be mute 
Than flattering the voice should sound, or the speech irres- 
olute. 

And better that arrows fly far past the mark, over-shot, 
Than but timidly sent they should droop and transfix it not. 

The race should be vigorously pushed, though uneven the start, 
And always, wherever assigned, let us act well the part, 
Let firm be the lootstep to tally with firm beat of heart. 

But more willing am I forever to steadily plod, 
Inspired by a thought that my soul is not linked to a clod, 
Than failing in flight, to fall, stricken again to the sod, 
And stumble along in the pathway that leads me to God. 



A KIND OF MAN. 77 

A KIND OF MAN. 

I like a man who all mean things despises, 
A man who has a purpose firm and true; 
Who faces every doubt as it arises, 
And murmurs not at what he finds to do. 

I like a man who shows the noble spirit 
Displayed by knights of Arthur's table round; 
Who, face to face with life, proves his real merit, 
Who has a soul that dwells above the ground; 

And yet, one who can understand the worry 
Of some chance brother fallen in the road, 
And speak to him a kind word 'mid the hurry, 
Or lay an easing hand upon his load. 

Large hearted, brave-souled men to-day are needed, 
Men ready when occasion's doors swing wide; 
Grand men to speak the counsel that is heeded, 
And men in whom a nation may confide. 

The world is wide, and broad its starry arches, " 
But lagging malcontents it cannot hold; 
The way of life to him who upright marches, 
Has ending in a far-off street of gold. 



78 TRANSFIGURED. 



AT 



TRANSFIGURED. 



6 6 \ cold, hard man I said," as day by day 

saw him pass the door, or, brooding, sit 
Before his cottage, watching children play 
The summer's lingering twilight hours away — 

Ever uncouth and grim, with brows close knit. 



Until, one day, a wondrous change took place; 

Upon the door the sign of mourning, and 
His child lay dead ! But, by what heavenly grace 
Did all the hardened lines fade from his face, 
Leaving of former self no slightest trace, 

As with sweet Grief he journeyed, hand in hand? 



LOVE'S POWER. 79 



LOVE'S POWER. 

WITHIN the palace of a brain 
A Thought of Love dwelt all alone, 
And there was not another Thought 

That ever dared approach his throne; 

Until there came a Thought of Hate, 
Half-crouching to the sacred seat, 

But, Thought of Love stretched forth a hand, 
And Thought of Hate died at his feet. 



8o FIRE-HUNTING. 



FIRE-HUNTING. 

WITH dip and glide a light canoe 
Crept through the waters of the lake; 
So softly, lightly creeping through 
That it did not the silence break. 

A lantern's penetrating glow 

Burned in the dark a path of light, 

And far-off, on its margin, lo ! 

A pair of eyes gleamed strangely bright ! 

The paddling ceased; there fell a hush. 

Then came a ringing rifle-shot — 
A plunge into the underbrush — 

Upon the beach a dark blood-clot ! 

With dip and glide a light canoe 

Crept through the waters of the lake, 

So softly, lightly creeping through 
That it did not a ripple make. 



"HEARTACHE: 



"HEARTACHE." 

| Lines naming a landscape painted by Mr. Theodore C. Steele, owned 
by Mr. Louis C. Gibson.] 

ALTHOUGH the fields of summer time are dear 
And fair the days of sunshine-flooded hours 
We would not always have the summer here, — 
We tire of flowers. 



Let come a short October afternoon, 

Or yet a dreary day November sends ; — 
A mist hangs o'er the tired earth, and soon 
The night descends. 

Like some cowled monk grown weary of the world, 

The evening creeps along in somber guise, 
Her face in misty shadows thickly furled 
To hide her eyes. 

O heartache of the earth, so near to us 

These barren fields have on a sudden grown ! 
Cool hand of twilight touch us — tremulous, 
Sick and alone. 



82 "HEARTACHE" 



O skies of gray, come often in our need ! 

Come fall, O mists, efface the marks of tears, — 
The lessons of our heartache with us read, 
And soothe our fears ! 

Dear barren field, we lay our hearts on thine, 

And leafless shrub, we make thy grief our own ; 
Come, Spring, and touch our hearts with life divine, 
All heartache flown ! 



FRIENDSHIP'S SACRAMENT. 83 



FRIENDSHIP'S SACRAMENT. 

WHEN I've partaken of your bread and wine, 
And paused awhile beneath your friendly roof, 
Good thoughts and honest purposes are mine, 
Awhile from trivial things I stand aloof. 

It is a sacrament of friendship there, 

When I've partaken of your bread and wine; 
I feel in touch with all things sweet and fair; 

My pilgrimage is to a true home's shrine. 

Like the lost Arab, when his host will bring 

The bit of cake, the salt in friendly sign, 

When I've partaken of your bread and wine 
Across my desert rose and lotus spring, 

And in my heart there is a genial glow. 

To-night above me starry heavens shine, 
Yet out of clouds the brightest stars will grow 

When I've partaken of your bread and wine. 



84 OMAR KHAYYAM. 



OMAR KHAYYAM. 

KING of the wise who, long ago, 
Your tents built in the Persian sand, 
Let me your sweet contentment know, 
Here in my vigorous Western land. 

Some day, when I shall stand beside 

The grave where you have lain so long— 

At Nishapur your body died, 

But your soul lives in tender song — 

I'll pour upon your tomb the wine 

Some Western grape has given me; 

I'll speak some verse, some flowing line 
Born here, beyond the Western sea. 

And may the time be early night 

When torches in the desert glow, 

And in dim tents "appears a light, 

While sounds the camel's moaning, low. 



OMAR KHA YYAM. 85 

Then I would be at Nishapur, 

To stand in reverent pause and be 
One happy hour a worshiper, 

Your grave a Mecca made for me. 

Oh, my beloved, I shall taste 

The grape's blood, as your songs have said, 
And pour it on the desert's waste, 

A tribute to the ghostly dead 

Whose spirits hover there, and plan 

Strange journeys that can never end, 
But, in a ghostly caravan, 

For ages through the past extend. 

O, Muezzin, from the Tower of Night, 

Look you toward the tomb of him 
Who yearned in song for greater light 

And found it at the goblet's brim ! 

Forget him not, because he keeps 

Such silence; guard in light and gloom 

Until I reach the place he sleeps, 

With wine to pour upon his tomb, 



86 A DISCOVERY. 



A DISCOVERY. 

[According to a Child.] 

I have just discovered what makes bread white, 
And why the loaves are so porous and light. 

We plant the seed in fall-time in the ground, 

And all the winter long they grow and grow, 

And when the fields and woods are winter-bound, 
The tiny blades are green beneath the snow. 

And then in summer-time, when winter's dead, 
The ripened wheat is ground to flour, and so 

When that light flour is made up into bread, 
We see within the loaves the winter's snow. 

And that is the reason why bread is white, 

And why the loaves are so porous and light ! 



SONNETS 



A MODERN PURITAN. 89 



A MODERN PURITAN. 

AS though Priscilla had smoothed out the frown 
She had for all things that were worldly-wise — 
As though she stood again 'neath softer skies 
Than on the bleak New England rocks looked down, 
And all the sorrows of that time could drown, — 
Thus comes one, unaustere, with kindly eyes, 
Stepping from out the past's dim tapestries, 
A Puritan with purity her crown. 

Yet, not the shy reserve that marks her ways 
Nor lines of strength denoted in her face 

O'er which the sweetest light 'neath heaven plays, 
Compel our love, but traces of the race 

That passes down its grandeur to our days, 

Seeking the good and spurning all things base ! 



90 THE LA W OF LIFE. 



THE LAW OF LIFE. 

[To Mr. Charles H. Ham, author of "Manual Training".] 

"T 

[_^ABOR the law of life," that is your creed; 

Once it was true that art meant only grace, 
"A pretty flower this is," "a glorious face," 
Men said, and so interpreting, did heed 
No higher call than came from shepherd's reed: 

The brawny arm was for the warrior's mace, 
The supple limb was for the champion's race, 
But higher, better things were lost indeed ! 

Now, in this newer day, what change is wrought ! 

We know the law of life is labor; so 
The hand and mind in unison are taught, 

With each the other's ready servant. Lo ! 
What a grand world will swing beneath the sun 
When Heart and Hand and Mind are all in one! 



TO EUGENE FIELD IN ENGLAND. 91 



TO EUGENE FIELD IN ENGLAND. 

GOOD poet of the city by the lake, 
Critic and satirist I wave a hand 
And send this greeting over sea and land — 
That kindest spirits round you tend, and make 
Your ready feet to walk in Chaucer's wake, 

And in the paths of Keats and Shelley stand; 
Or where the master of all singers planned 
His songs, may your heart inspiration take. 

Where Dobson's flowers find root in "paven ground," 
And Andrew Lang and Walter Pater bide, 

I know that there for you a joy is found. 
Cease not your western Pegasus to ride, 

And when old book plates and rare volumes bore, 

Quit London's fog and dwell with us once more. 



9 2 



DEPENDENCE. 



DEPENDENCE. 

WHEN a kind parent first his children guides 
Into a bit of world they have not seen, 
Though often told about its meadows green, 
Or of some evil thing that there abides, 
Their father's fearful care each one derides; 

His guarded pace to them seems slow and mean 
Till sudden, they go hurrying back to lean 
Against his surer, stronger heart. 

The sides 
Of mountains where men's daring feet would go 

Alluring are, because no man has trod; 
The restful slopes are tempting from below, 

Yet seekers will not in the safe paths plod; 
Like the weak children they are taught to know 

That man must always follow after God. 



BY SHERIDAN'S GRAVE. 93 



BY SHERIDAN'S GRAVE. 

1 STOOD upon the heights at Arlington, 
And saw Potomac's waters seaward flowing, 
While all about me, past our human knowing 
The soldiers lay — men who that soil had won 
From enemies as brave, who would not shun 

The wrath that followed on their whirlwind sowing, 
And there among their graves the flowers were grow- 
ing, 
And on Virginia shone the springtime sun. 

Here lies the idol of my boyish dreaming, 
Beside the storied river that had known 

The camp-fires of a mighty army, gleaming 

Where peace to-day her snowy scarf has thrown. 

Sleep, Sheridan, beyond this world of seeming, 
Your spirit guard this valley as its own ! 



94 VIKING. 



VIKING. 

[Written In Du Chaillu's Viking Age.] 

WHAT has been stolen from time's jealous hand, — 
A newer Greece washed by the Baltic's tide 
Where fire of Northern genius burned and died; 
Where long-dethroned gods ruled o'er the land 
And warriors fought with sword and threatening brand? 
Was it these rugged shores that once defied 
The world as'it was known to them and tried 
Adventurous keels on many an unknown strand? 

Parents of mighty nations, kings of the sea ! 

Fair-haired, strong-limbed path-blazers of the deep ! 
How full a life was theirs, how broad and free, — 
Passing one day Gibraltar's tropic steep, 

Seeking a while some Northern coast and drear, 
Or sailing far to find the Western hemisphere ! 



VIOLIN. 95 



VIOLIN. 

GENTLY, beneath her perfect rounded chin, 
The instrument is clasped, as mothers hold 
Across their hearts a much-loved child, to fold 
It from the world of misery and sin. 
She draws the bow across the strings to win 

To life the tones now soft, now strong and bold, 
(But ever breathing some grand truth untold) 
That dormant lie within the violin. 



O, mystery of music, wondrous art ! 

The sympathetic violin but steals 
The loves and hates that dwell within her heart — 

The very hopes, the vague desires she feels- 
And at the bow's quick touch they rise and start 

In melody that inmost soul reveals. 



9 6 WHAT THE BABIES SAY. 



WHAT THE BABIES SAY. 

WHAT things the babies say are listened to 
As if the little heads were brimming o'er 
With pretty fancies, such as ne'er before 
Took form in human mind — as if they knew 
The glories of the world, or false or true. 

And with their careless-clutching fingers tore 
From Miss Pandora's box the bitter store 
(If pleased) and handed out the sweets to you. 

O baby lips, whose lispings we repeat, 
O baby tongue, so eager in attaining 

The power through which your wishes may be 
heard; 
May you remain forever pure and sweet, 

And ne'er in anger move, but uncomplaining, 
And ever by the noblest promptings stirred. 



SECRETS. 97 



SECRETS. 

HOW well her many secrets nature keeps 
And never tells to us by word or sign, — ■ 
The hidden source whence comes life-giving wine 
Which through the trees in springtime tingling creeps; 
The dwelling-place from which the wind low sweeps, 
His stalwart forest legions to align 
With leadership of giant oak or pine — 
She tells us not but, brooding silent, sleeps. 

So, safely locked within the human heart, 

Are joys and sorrows of the long ago, 
As hidden springs from which the sad tears start 

When we scarce know the power that moves their flow; 
And we from all the world are set apart 

By precious secrets none may ever know. 



98 BLIND. 



BLIND. 

AS one who in a cavern underground 
Can hear the jars and murmurings which tell 
That far away a busy people dwell, 
Not hearing, only knowing by the sound, 
So dwells he in a world by darkness bound; 

lie hears and feels, but no dawn can dispell 
The night for him on whom no light e'er fell 
With power to drive away the night profound. 

But not for aye he walks the realm of night, 
For one day there will break upon his eyes 

A flood of rarer, dark o'ercoming light 

Than ever flushed the arch of earthly skies, 

And for him dawn a morning wondrous bright 
Within the garden lands of Paradise. 



A FANCY. 



99 



A FANCY. 

5 ]\ TEATH sullen skies the marshalled clouds parade; 
1 ^ The Autumn wind sighs a weird monotone 
In which I hear, in fancy, softly blown, 

The stirring bugle notes that once were played 

To mocking echoes in a Southern glade; 

I hear the sentinel's quick challenge tone — 
The noise and stir of war, all backward thrown 

Across the gulf that peaceful years have made. 

But long ago the clouds of war had spent 

Their fury; sounds of strife no longer fill 

The field whereon sweet peace has spread her tent — 
But those same bugle tones are sounding still, 

And ringing through the starry firmament, 

Whilst Memory's camp-fires blaze upon the hill. 



ioo THOREA U. 



THOREAU. 

A prince he was, yet scorning princely ways, 
A priest of nature, simple and sincere, 
To whom the wild free things were far more dear 
Than trammeling honors gathered of the days 
That only served to show him some new phase 

In life of flower and tree; whose greatest cheer 
Came when the seasons changed and he would hear 
The blue bird's note or see the woods ablaze. 

Though joining not in endless race with men, 
And caring not to lift life's heavy load; — 
Of quiet life, of solitude though fond, 
I love to read the thoughts traced by his pen, 
And fancy that I walk Marlborough road 

Or rest with him by peaceful Walden pond. 




...'.■...-.— .•. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRfcc 

Miniuiii 

018 407 106 A • 



